


Coffee and a Good Book

by knightedlioness



Category: Notting Hill (1999), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, F/M, M/M, No Hale Fire, Not Beta Read, but im not a funny writer, i tried so be nice, mentions of epilepsy, mentions of fertility issues, no seriously halp, obviously of derek's body, some body objectification, stiles is a funny character, will someone be my beta
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-14 03:45:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightedlioness/pseuds/knightedlioness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fuck his life. He may have just given Derek Hale third-degree burns.</p><p>Or: In which Derek Hale, famous movie star, miraculously falls in love with the idiot who accidentally insults him every time he opens his mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys...so with the exception of a random one-shot I have not attempted to write something on my own for YEARS. Not since the good ol' middle school days. *wince* Please be gentle.
> 
> The inspiration for this comes from the fabulous reel_merlin community over at lj. I left the merlin fandom a couple years ago but I always thought the movie fusion fics there were awesome, particularly the merlin/arthur version of Notting Hill. After reading my way through literally HUNDREDS of sterek fics here on ao3, I decided that sterek and the teen wolf cast more generally are also quite well suited to having their own version of one of my fave romcoms of all time. This is my humble attempt.
> 
> I have no idea how frequently I'll be able to update, but I do have a bunch of time this summer so hopefully I won't leave you hanging. If anyone wants to volunteer to beta, that would actually be amazing, though you have to be willing to watch or rewatch Notting Hill as I particularly need advice on what alterations I'd like to make in my own version. Also anyone with skill writing porny bits is welcome, because I suck at that and am dreading the sexy times part of the story.
> 
> Also, if anyone has a better title for the fic, that would be great. Suggestions are most welcome.
> 
> Anyways, hope you all enjoy!

The day starts off like any other. Well, that’s how you’re supposed to start stories like these, anyway, but technically no two days are exactly the same unless you were trapped in like, a Groundhog Day or something. And even then, you could argue that if _you_ still change your actions, then you haven’t _really_ repeated the same day, have you?

But getting back to the point. Stiles cracks a yawn as he fiddles with the key to Mâni Books, the tiny mythology-themed bookstore in Park Slope where he ekes out a post-college living. A welcoming waft of air greets him when he opens the door, carrying with it the comforting scent of hundreds of newly printed books crammed together in a small space. He flips the ‘Open’ sign and the lights as he walks in, and then gets started sorting through a box of books that came in the day before. The work is mindless, the books easy to catalogue and stack based on whether their main subjects are ‘vampire,’ ‘werewolf,’ or ‘other.’ Writers these days have no imagination. He’s grateful for a distraction when he feels his phone buzz in his pocket and sees that he’s got an incoming call from his best friend-cum-roommate.

“You’ve reached Mâni Books, the premier mythology bookstore in the Greater New York metropolitan area. For customer service purposes, may I ask if this is your first time calling us?”

“Stiles,” Scott hisses. “That’s not funny, man! I’m at work and I need advice, quick. They want me to ‘evaluate the stock portfolios’ for our stuff in Singapore and I have no idea what that even means!”

Stiles refrains from rolling his eyes while he attempts to shelve books with the phone still tucked between his ear and shoulder, but he knows Scott can feel the judgment through the phone. The bell on the door tinkles. He glances up, but it looks like this morning’s first potential customer is making a beeline straight for the (admittedly extensive) supernatural erotica shelves in the back, so Stiles just lets him be.

“Scott, bro, I love you, but for the millionth time I can’t help you because my major was myth-history and I know diddly squat about finance. And also for the millionth time, if you hate finance so much, why are you doing it?”

“Ugh, can you please just help me?” Scott whines.

Stiles sighs and is about to remind Scott that he got himself into this mess by accepting a job he’d only interviewed for as a joke. But just then the bell tinkles again and he pops his head around the corner of a bookshelf to see who’s come in, only to feel his jaw drop.

Derek freaking Hale. Derek Hale--twenty five years old, six feet tall, 180 pounds of pure muscle, child-star-of-a-successful-TV-sitcom-turned-huge-blockbuster-movie-actor--has walked into Stiles’ bookstore in Brooklyn. Even with those mirrored aviators Derek’s got on, Stiles would recognize that bone structure and those eyebrows anywhere. He’s seen them often enough both on screen and in his own imagination.

“Scott, I’m gonna have to call you back,” he says faintly. “Uhh, customer service and all that. Go ask that guy Danny for help. ”

He completely ignores Scott’s grumbling as he disconnects and walks back to the counter. He takes a deep breath. Stay cool.

“Hey, can I help you with anything?” He tries to keep his smile friendly, but not simpering. Derek’s shoulders hunch a bit in his (very sexy) leather jacket and Stiles sees his eyes dart over to the counter.

“Just browsing,” Derek grunts. He gingerly picks up a copy of Twilight from the nearest display section and stares at it.

“Oh, you don’t want to get that one,” Stiles blurts out. “The vampires in that one _sparkle_ and--spoiler alert--I’m pretty sure there’s a whole thing in the last one about one of the werewolves falling in love with a baby. Talk about the wrong kind of creepy for a vampire/werewolf story...” Stiles trails off when Derek glares at him.

“Not that I think your tastes are creepy or anything...uh...” Damn. This isn’t how meet-cutes in all those romcom movies go. Then again, those movies are filled with ridiculously good looking and witty people who are obviously meant for each other. Meanwhile, Derek can probably pull off any movie he wants, but casting Stiles as the romantic lead, judging by his track record, would probably just get people fired.

Derek’s eyebrows--the stuff Oscars are made of, really--have furrowed in a sort of confused annoyance. Stiles kind of wishes he could sink into the floor right now, but then he catches a flash out of the corner of his eye and seizes on the chance for an even better distraction.

With an apologetic smile at Derek, he heads to the back and stops in front of the other customer, who straightens from where he has only just finished slipping a book down his pants.

Stiles snorts. “Yeah, bad news, buddy. I’m the son of a Sheriff, and when you’ve spent as much time as I have getting into trouble in a town where your dad literally _is_ the law, it gets hard to slip one by me.”

The customer shifts nervously, but opts for a blustering sort of outrage. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Derek seems to have gone still up near the front. Stiles wonders if he’s watching the whole scene--it’s hard not to hear when the bookstore is so small.

“I’m talking about the book you’ve just stuck down the front of your pants.”

Another nervous, full-body twitch. Isn’t that uncomfortable? Seriously, if you had a book down your pants the _one_ upside should be that it’s presence should keep you from moving too much and sending out guilty body signals. 

“I haven’t got a book in my pants,” the guy snaps.

Sigh. “Okayyyy...welp, I guess I can call the police and hey, if I’m wrong, I promise to be reeaally sorry,” he says flatly. There’s the sound of what might be a half laugh, half cough up front and Stiles’ heart stutters.

The definitely-a-felon has his face screwed up in what looks like a painful (and painfully incriminating) deliberation. “Hypothetically, what would the alternatives be if I did have a book in my pants?”

“Ideally, when I go back to the front, you’ll take the book out of your pants and either pay for it or wipe it off and put it back on the shelf, where it’ll rest in peace until the next time some sixteen year old punk comes in and thinks it would be funny to try and sneak a peek at the 18 and over section.” 

Satisfied that his point has been made, Stiles leaves Felon Guy to decide his fate and trots back to where Derek is waiting at the register. He’s buying Twilight.

“Going for this one, are we? You know what, I reconsidered," he says magnanimously. "How bad can it be? It’s a global phenomenon with millions of copies sold. In twenty years, it’ll probably be considered a classic.”

Derek’s lips twitch and Stiles gives an internal cheer as he bags the book and hands Derek his change.

“Excuse me, can I get your autograph?” They both turn to look at Felon Guy, who fortunately seems to have only the ordinary stuff in his pants now.

“Sure.” Derek’s muscles shift in his shirt as he reaches out to take the guy’s proffered pen and paper. Stiles tries not to shiver when he gets a whiff of Derek’s cologne during the handover.

“Whom should I address it to?”

“Matt.”

Derek scribbles something messily and hands the paper back. Matt-the-felon grins. 

“Thanks. What’s it say?”

Derek’s eyes flick to Stiles before returning to the paper. “That’s my signature, and that says ‘To Matt--proof that being over 18 doesn’t mean you’re ready to handle the adult section.’”

Stiles bites his lip to hold in a surprised laugh, but the answering smirk at the corner of Derek’s mouth shows he caught it. Matt seems to completely misinterpret the message, and leaves with a comment about how hot that is.

Derek takes his bag from the counter, gives Stiles a nod, and is gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles stands behind the bookstore counter for a minute before he decides, _fuck ADHD_ , he deserves a fully caffeinated cappuccino right now. He grabs his phone from the counter and texts Scott a quick, _You won’t BELIEVE who I just saw_ on his way out the door.

Scott replies almost instantly (proving that he’s either still stuck or he’s convinced Danny to do his work in exchange for another addition to his worryingly huge pile of IOUs). _What, who did you see? Someone famous?_

Stiles bites his lip. He usually shares absolutely everything with Scott, but he finds that he suddenly just wants to keep this whole morning to himself. It feels too unreal to share. Standing in line at the café across the street, he shoots back, _Nvm, not that exciting._ He feels a pang of guilt at this outright lie—meeting Derek Hale is probably the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to him. Well, other than that time in high school when Lydia had let him take her to prom. 

Stiles gets his coffee just as Scott sends, _I thought I saw Scarlett Johansson on the street once; she was super hot. But then it turned out it was actually Anne Hathaway._

He feels his eyebrows rise in disbelief, and shifts his grip on his coffee to text back, _Duude Scarlett Johansson and Anne Hathaway look nothing ali—_

Stiles gasps as he slams into something rock solid. His coffee goes flying and he lands on his ass hard, although luckily at least his phone escapes any damage.

Someone curses, “Holy mother of _fuck_ , watch where you’re going!”

Stiles scrambles to his feet, already babbling an apology. “Hey man, I’m super sorry, oh my god, I totally wasn’t looking where I was going, that was my bad. Are you hurt?” He looks up into the other person’s face and freezes.

Fuck his life. He may have just given Derek Hale third-degree burns.

And oh god, the man looks super pissed. His eyebrows have drawn down and there is a definite scowl going on. He’s got his shirt pinched away from him like he’s trying to keep it from touching his skin because, _oh yeah_ , he’s kinda got scalding hot coffee all down his front.

“Uhh…look, I can pay to have that cleaned, but I know that isn’t going to help right now. Umm, I actually live right near here, so would you want to come over and I can give you a shirt to use?” Stiles winces. “Don’t take that the wrong way, I’m not like, trying to come on to you or anything. Not that there’s anything wrong with a guy coming onto another guy. But also not like you are the kind of guy who guys come on to. Well, you probably _are_ since you know, you’re you, but not that you’re the kind of guy who is into that. Wait…no, uh…” Stiles trails off and stares helplessly at Derek, wishing someone would just kill him dead. Now.

Derek is looking at him skeptically. “And you thought _I_ was going for creepy?” He asks wryly.

Stiles flushes, torn between the rush of warmth in his chest at the thought that Derek remembered their earlier conversation, and the rush of warmth in his face at the thought of how this makes _two_ disastrous conversations with Derek freaking Hale. 

He goes for righteous indignation. “Hey, I said I was sorry, okay? I’m trying to be nice here. And I’m serious about the shirt offer—my apartment is literally right there,” he points to a door about fifty feet down the street.

Derek’s lips purse—which kind of distracts Stiles from the entire situation, actually—but he finally nods grimly. “Fine.”

****

It’s only after Stiles lets himself and Derek into the small apartment he shares with Scott that he remembers that he and Scott are total slobs. He trips over himself and flails for a second in his rush to hide various dirty dishes and to clear away the empty pizza box on the counter that sits as damning evidence of the gaming marathon that he and Scott had wasted their Sunday on.

Derek stands awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen, his shoulders once again hunched in his jacket, and the rapidly cooling damp spot on his shirt makes Stiles' eyes drift towards what looks like a pebbling nipple and the outline of a very muscular pectoral. Ngh.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Stiles tries to buy time to get his brain into gear, but damn, Derek’s chest is seriously distracting. Derek says nothing. 

“We’ve got like, water, milk, soda, or coffee.” Derek glares. Oh, right. Stiles hastily backtracks, “No, sorry, I wasn’t making fun of you, I just forgot. How about something to eat? We’ve probably only got junk food right now because even though I make my dad eat healthy so he doesn’t fall down of a heart attack and die, Scott and I are strapping young men who deserve to enjoy our pop tarts and what not. Although, now that I think about it, I don’t know if you’re allowed to eat pop tarts or whatever. They probably make you go on really cruel super protein diets right? It would be seriously unfair if you could look like that and not suffer for it in some way…” Stiles trails off and clears his throat. So smooth. Yup, that’s his middle name. Geni—nope, _Stiles_ —Smooth Stilinski.

Derek is still just standing there, but he actually seems to have relaxed a bit. His mouth is doing that twitching thing in the corner where it seems like he could almost smile. “Do you even hear yourself talk?” he asks.

Stiles shrugs helplessly. “Maybe I’m secretly a believer of radical honesty or something. Don’t judge.”

“You can’t practice radical honesty _secretly_ ,” Derek points out. Stiles grins. 

“Stilinski men defy logic,” he announces grandly. Derek scoffs, but he gives Stiles a quick, _real_ smile for the first time and it makes Stiles’ heart beat fast enough that he thinks maybe he really should cut back on those pop tarts. 

He’s getting too caught up in this. “I’ll just go and get you a shirt, yeah?” He smiles weakly at Derek and flees for his room.

He finds Derek on the phone when he gets back. He’s pacing back and forth in the kitchen, and he’s _growling_ into the phone. (It’s unfairly hot.) “I _know_ Peter, I’m heading back in a couple minutes. I’m not going to be late. Yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you then.” He hangs up and takes his aviators off to rub his eyes before he looks over at Stiles.

“Yeah, so this is the biggest shirt I could find; hopefully it’ll fit. I don’t exactly spend three hours a day at the gym or anything.” Derek’s eyes flick up and down Stiles’ body, making his breath catch in his throat.

“It’ll be fine.” He reaches down and now Stiles’ heart really does stop beating. Because holy mother of god, Derek is peeling his jacket off, setting it on the kitchen counter along with his sunglasses (Stiles notes that he avoids the spot where the greasy pizza box used to sit) and then Derek just strips off his shirt in the middle of Stiles’ kitchen. 

This is way too similar to a lot of Stiles’ teenage fantasies. Derek reaches his hand out and grunts impatiently, jolting Stiles out of where he’s been staring at miles and miles of rippling abs dipping down to a v-cut near his hips that makes Stiles’ mouth run dry. Even the irritated red marks left by the coffee do nothing to deter Stiles from wanting to get said mouth _all_ over that.

He realizes that he’s been gripping the extra shirt with white knuckles and blushes again, thrusting it into Derek’s outstretched hand. Derek pulls it on over his head and Stiles mentally says a mournful goodbye to that six pack. 

Stiles licks his lips and Derek’s eyes flicker to his mouth and back up to his eyes. They move in sync towards the door, pausing just in front of it.

Stiles tries to think of something clever or memorable to say, something that will be a good ending to The Morning I Met Derek Hale And Spilled Coffee On Him. All that comes to mind is a line from some obscure romcom movie his mom used to love, and before he can think, the good ol’ brain-to-mouth filter is failing him again and it pops out. “Well, this has been…surreal but nice.” He winces. He’s pretty sure that line didn’t even go over well for the character in that movie. 

Derek looks at him again, and his eyes are an even more piercing blue-green in person than on screen. Which, _how_ , because usually for films they use lighting to enhance that kind of thing, and all Stiles has is the sunlight coming in through the front window.

They stand there in silence for a moment before Derek gives a sharp nod, swings the door open, and leaves Stiles’ life for a second time.

Stiles sags against the door, only to be startled a few seconds later when the doorbell rings. He yanks the door open again—and Derek is standing on the doorstep.

“Yeah?” God, he sounds kind of breathless. That’s embarrassing.

Derek shifts on his feet. “I forgot my jacket.”

“Oh, right, right. Yeah, just come on in and I’ll grab it.” He leaves the door open and scurries to the kitchen, grabbing the jacket and the sunglasses off the counter. The leather is warm and soft in his hand, and smells a bit like Derek’s cologne. 

“Here you go.” He passes both items off to Derek in the entrance hallway.

“Thanks.” Derek reaches again for the door handle and hesitates, glancing back at Stiles. 

“Sorry I called you creepy and told you that you couldn’t eat junk food,” Stiles blurts out.

Derek pauses, turning back around. “It’s fine,” he answers gruffly. “I thought the low point was when you stole that ‘surreal but nice’ line.”

“Oh god, you _recognized_ that?” Stiles is equal parts embarrassed and charmed by this. It’s a painful combination.

Derek doesn’t say anything. He’s staring at Stiles again in a way that makes Stiles’ heart pound. He takes a step towards Stiles, who, for once, stands completely still. 

It’s just a light brush, so quick that Stiles isn’t even sure that Derek’s lips touched his and then it’s over. Derek looks at him again, assessing but open. The moment is broken when Derek’s phone rings and he grimaces.

“I’ve got to go.”

Stiles nods, still in a state of shock. “Right. Right. I’m sure you’re a busy guy. After all, there are like three more Twilight books to go through once you finish that one.” He jerks his chin at Derek’s bag.

Derek rolls his eyes and leans in to give Stiles another featherlight kiss that leaves him gaping. 

“That one’s just to shut you up.” Derek smirks and walks out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, thanks for all the lovely comments and kudos. You inspired me to dash out this latest chapter (instead of paying attention in class, meep). Also so many hugs for those of you who responded to my panic and offered to beta. Fortunately, a friend in RL has agreed to look over everything for me, so you can all enjoy the ride as it comes. this chapter is still unbeta-ed, but i will probably go back and do an edit once she's caught up with watching Notting Hill.

With the exception of a mega marathon of Derek Hale's movies over the next few evenings, it's not until Saturday that Derek re-enters Stiles' life. 

He's been out all day running errands and getting dinner with a college buddy who's in town, so he's looking forward to collapsing next to Scott on the couch and maybe catching a few rerun episodes of Firefly on Syfy (or watching anything _not_ starring Derek Hale, really).

But alas, the universe isn't about to let him and his hopeless crush off so lightly. He makes it to the collapse-on-the-couch portion of his plan without incident, but instead of a grunted greeting from a Scott or a brief tussle for the remote, he finds himself on the receiving end of what Scott clearly thinks is a 'knowing look.'

"What's with the face, dude?"

Scott squints--a move Stiles recognizes as Scott's version of the 'piercing stare.' He gets a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Since when do _you_ know Derek Hale?"

Stiles freezes. His palms go sweaty.

"How do you know about that?"

"Ha! I knew it!" Scott exclaims, as if he's successfully wrangled something out of his best friend instead of received an immediate and open confirmation from Stiles himself. Normally, Stiles would roll his eyes, but right now his heart is pounding.

"No seriously. Scott--did he--did Derek-- _how_ do you know that?" His mind is racing with possibilities. They don't have a home phone, so there's no number listed for the apartment. How would Derek even have...?

"It was freaking crazy, dude. I was just chilling here and bam! the doorbell rings; I get up to go answer it, and _Derek Hale_ is standing on the doorstep, glaring at me." Scott shudders. "It was pretty weird, seriously. He looked really pissed when he saw me, and then," he gives Stiles another sly glance, "he asked if I was 'the other guy's boyfriend.'" Stiles automatically shudders in horror along with Scott. Then the last sentence hits him.

"Oh my god, _what_?" He's pretty sure his voice just squeaked. Scott cackles. Yup, teenage girldom has just welcomed Stiles to its ranks.

"Yeah, he only stopped giving me the stink eye when I told him that was practically incest. Then he gave me this," he holds up a slip of paper. "And said he'd be around for the next few days if you wanted to call him."

Stiles snatches the paper from an openly grinning Scott and whips out his phone. He taps the number in without hesitation, but pauses when his thumb hovers over the dial button.

"Scott, what am I even doing? This is Derek Hale we're talking about. This is crazy." He takes a shuddery breath.

Scott watches him for a second before he says in a low voice, "Stiles, you've been half in love with Derek Hale for almost as long as I can remember. I don't know what happened, but you don't throw chances like this away." Stiles swallows and jerks a nod. Scott smiles at him. "Besides, any guy would be lucky to get a call from _my_ best friend." He thumps Stiles' arm encouragingly.

Stiles squawks. And because this is how his life works, the gesture causes his thumb to clamp down on the sensitive touch screen dial button. He glares at Scott as the sound of a dial tone radiates from the speakers of his phone.

"What the hell, Scott. I wasn't ready! I needed to like, go to my happy place and prepare first! Now what am I gonna say if he picks up?" A voice answers, and Stiles hastily puts the phone to his ear. It's with both relief and disappointment that he finds he's reached Derek's voicemail. He wets his lips.

"Hey, uh, hey Derek. This is Stiles. Well, I guess that doesn't really help identify me since we never actually exchanged names...I mean, obviously, I know your name, but it probably would still have been good form to...unless Scott gave you my name when you stopped by." He glances at Scott, gets a negative. "Well, anyways, who needs names when you've already worn my shirt, right?" Scott's eyes bug out. "Wait, no! No. I didn't mean it like that. Definitely not." Wince. "Anyways...you told me to call, so this is me, calling." Just shoot him now, seriously. "Right. Uh, so yeah, great. Thanks for coming by."

Stiles hits end call and cradles his head in his hands, fingers digging into his hair. Scott pats his back in semi-genuine sympathy.

****

When his phone buzzes two hours later, Stiles is still on the couch, staring fixedly at the TV screen. He has no idea what they're watching. At the vibration of an incoming text message, he surges up towards the coffee table to snag his phone. 

_Are you free tomorrow? Four Seasons Hotel, 4:30 pm, Room 1504._

There's nothing flirtatious about the text, no subtleties to read into, but Stiles still sits there grinning at his screen. If Derek had just wanted to return his shirt, he could have given it to Scott today. Asking Stiles to come by has to mean he at least wants to see Stiles' face again, right?

_I'll be there_ , he promises.

**Author's Note:**

> Also the name for Stiles' bookstore is admittedly really childish and terrible. I wanted some kind of wolf-related pun, so I looked up the names of moon gods in various cultures and found that one was Mani. This also sounds like it could be read "Many Books" to me, and I just felt a rush of triumph at fitting TWO terrible references/puns into one name. Sorry.


End file.
